What am I doing here?

The last time I drove somewhere and parked up outside, unable to make myself go inside, was my first STI check at a pre-billionaire wealth type clinic. I sat there in my middle class car with my infected testicles and just stared and stared. It's the same now. I'm staring and staring... but at least my testicles are infection free. Once bitten, twice wrapped and all that. My nails click against the steering wheel as time races forwards to twelve noon. Anastasia is in there, deep in the bowels of this building of misery, preparing for either one of the best or the single worst day of her life.

And somehow, someway, I've gone and irrevocably injected myself into this hellacious situation.

Fucking gobshite.

The bouquet of flowers mock me in the passenger seat, their petals quivering with mirth. A groan escapes my lips and I throw my head against the cold, smooth steering wheel and wonder miserably how someone so intelligent such as myself can be so concurrently dunce-like. Who brings flowers to an occasion like this? This jackass, that's who. My mother has taken inordinate time over the years to instill the virtues of old school manners into my brother and I, a central tenant being never, ever to turn up to an event with your hands hanging, particularly where such an event involves a lady or ladies.

Is an operation an event?

There should be a fucking comprehensive manual about things like this.

"An idiots guide to social interactions and the best antiseptic hand wash for your skin type."

I should be in a meeting right now, knowing exactly what to say and knowing exactly what to do. But, no, I couldn't mind my own business and here I am, like a spare prick at the Junior Prom, dealing with fucking flop sweat and loose bowels. I anxiously scan my face for any signs of acne or other such adolescent symptoms and sigh in relief to find myself as breathtaking as always. It's a comfort to me, it really is.

No matter what, I'll always be highly doable.

Even I'd do me, in a fucking heartbeat.

No social faux pas can take that away from me.

The teddy bear sits next to the flowers and frowns disapprovingly at me. As if knowing that I am utterly unqualified to be interfering in the life of its soon to be owner. I stare at it suspiciously, it's pink fur and big brown eyes irritating me, judging me. Running my hand through my hair, I force air to sail through my lungs and speak to myself, not unlike a lunatic, in a low growl.

Fuck sake, Grey, your balls are award winning. Use the fucking things. Move.

Grabbing the damned flowers and omniscient bear, I stalk from the car before I can think one more second on it and stride into the now familiar hospital. I vaguely hope Nurse Ratchet isn't on duty as I wait for the Stone Age elevator to chug and churn through the floors, wrinkling my nose in distaste at the... municipal nature of everything. Masie should be in a private facility, with only the best of equipment and minds surrounding her, but it would be impossible to move her at this stage.

I stare at my grainy reflection in the steel walls.

Who the fuck am I to even suggest moving Masie anywhere?

Flynn's full of shit, the mere thought of such a thing is more proof of my theory, my thesis.

My days on this Earth are numbered, I am a dead man walking.

I'm considering the virtues of bribing some blood slinger in this place into giving me a quick but thorough MRI when the doors slide open and I'm met by the bulging bust and scowling snarl of... Nurse fucking Ratchet. Joyous. She glances at me without interest at first before doing a swift double take and narrowing her beady little eyes in hateful recognition. She is much bigger than me and truth be told, in a physical altercation, I'm pretty sure she'd spank my ass and soundly sodomies me with a strap on before I could so much as beg for mercy.

These middle aged broads... they're a fucking liability.

All menopausal and sexually frustrated by their lack of Ryan Reynolds and what have you.

To be fair, I can understand that much, Reynolds is a fucking catch.

"Mr Grey," she snaps, still blocking my exit, "how lovely to see you again. Have you had any further thoughts on how I should do my job since we last spoke? I've only been doing it since before you were born you see, so I really would appreciate any suggestions you may have."

I'd like to suggest she remove the spinach from her teeth, but I'm too afraid to.

She could snap my member clean off like Ramsay Bolton and have it for dinner with a juice box.

I think the fuck not.

"No," I say, saccharine as you like, "I'm just here to see Ms Steele and perhaps wait a while with her while Masie is having her operation."

She looks at me like I'm only moderately attractive.

Can you nurse if you're blind?

I really don't think you can nurse if you're blind... someone should report this maverick.

She's suspicious now and I know she's thinking that I'm some sort of creep that muscles in on a traumatized mother in a time of great need. My teeth grind together. If only she knew. We're at an impasse now, manners dictate that I cannot gently remove her from my path, and it has nothing to do with the fact that at her full height... she's quite scary. Eventually, she rolls her eyes to heaven and mutters something about entitlement under her breath and allows me to pass. Scooting out from behind her bulky frame, I take care to protect my important bits from her meaty paws.

She can try and hide it, but I know she wants me.

Minx.

Meandering up to the desk, I feel a pit of dread grow in my stomach and the millionth what if question pop into my brain. What if Masie doesn't survive the removal of her kidney? What if she does survive the removal, but her body rejects the mechanical pump? What if she survives the removal of her kidney and her body accepts the pump, but a donor cannot be found and the pump slowly ceases to buy her time? What if, in the case of all these what's ifs, Anastasia simply cannot cope and goes nuts?

By the time I get to the desk, I feel like hurling.

But I don't do that, I do not hurl.

It's so rude.

The nurse behind the desk today is young, not yet thirty, and smiles pleasantly up at me as I approach with a brain full of tumor and a stomach full of worries. Placing the flowers and bear on the formica surface, I bring myself to order. I am the man who projects calm authority at all times. That is what I can give Anastasia. That's what she needs. Someone who will give the impression that everything is and will continue to be okay...

Surely there's a pill for that, though?

I should have just given her the number to Dr Greene's private clinic.

Then I wouldn't be in this mess.

"Can you direct me to the waiting area for the operation of a Masie Steele, please," I say politely, not at all threatened by this nurse, the anti Nurse Ratchet. "Her mother, Anastasia Steele, is expecting me. My name is Christian Grey."

She's all business as she taps, taps, taps at her keyboard.

A frown puckers her brow as she looks up at me.

"Are you a family member?"

Family member?

I'm not even a fucking friend (I don't do friends, so tiresome) let alone a family member.

How to answer this query without coming across like a complete psychopath...

"I am a benefactor," I say smoothly, "and an... acquaintance of Ms Steele, Anastasia. She is expecting me to come and sit with her while Masie has her surgery... you are more than welcome to page through and verify, if you like."

She glances at the flowers and bear and smiles slightly.

Scratch that.

I wan't Nurse Ratchet back.

"I'm sorry, Mr Grey, unless you are an immediate family member you cannot be allowed access through to the surgical waiting area. There is nothing in the chart to contradict this rule. You are more than welcome to take a seat downstairs in the main waiting area and I will inform Ms Steele of your presence as soon as I can. In any event, Masie is still being prepped... it might be several hours before the actual operation takes place. You might be better off going home and coming back."

Does this wretched girl know what I just went through to get here, this time?

I'm going fucking nowhere.

Me and my infection-free balls are staying right where we are.

"Surely you could just go and fetch Ms Steele," I counter tightly, beginning to lose patience. "She will immediately verify what I have told you... and you can update the chart to reflect her instructions."

She smiles professionally at me, completely unperturbed by my presence or appearance.

Is everyone on this ward blind?

Is the fucking surgeon who's going to carve into Masie blind as well?

Fuck me.

"Mr Grey, that is simply impossible. Ms Steele is in a consultation with Masie's surgeon right now and I cannot interrupt them. Like I said, you are more than welcome to take a seat downstairs and I will come and get you should Ms Steele indeed request your presence. Until then..."

Her eyes flicker to the double pink doors to her left and I know the waiting room is behind them.

Okay, time to do the necessary.

A trade as old as time.

Leaning over the desk, I deliberately allow my outrageously expensive cologne to float down to the nameless nurse's nostrils. I plaster my Hollywood smile across my face and try and inject some warmth into my cold, dead eyes. Flirting comes naturally for me... but it's not something that I do with just anyone.

But needs must.

God, this must be what it's like to work in the red light district.

I feel so cheap.

"Come on now," I purr, "surely you can help me out here. I've come a long way and it would upset Ms Steele if she were to think I had simply reneged on my promise to be with her here today. I know the waiting room is right behind those pink doors, so do you think you could just do a good deed and buzz me in..."

I tilt my head and dazzle her with my god-like charm.

"Please? Just for me? I don't want Masie to be on her own right now, with Anastasia meeting her doctors..."

She is completely unmoved.

Her pupils are not dilating, she's not blushing, she's not even breaking a sweat.

I am horrified, aghast, and generally fucking offended... what a wagon.

"Mr Grey, I do have an awful lot of work to do. Please, take the elevator back downstairs and I will come and fetch you should the position change. As for your concerns about Masie being alone, please rest assured, she isn't. I buzzed her father through a mere five or so minutes before you got here, so she is in good hands."

My blood chills.

"What did you say?"

She looks up at he change in my voice, alarmed, and raises a brow.

"I just buzzed her father... I think his name is Scott, through to sit with her. He's with her right now whilst Ms Steele is in the pre-op meeting and-"

Her voice changes to a shriek.

"Mr GREY... what are you-"

I don't hear the rest of it.

I've already darted past her desk and kicked the pretty pink doors clean open.